


The Children of the War

by Lise



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dehumanization, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knifeplay, Loki's a goddamn mess, Masochism, Nebula is a goddamn mess, POV Female Character, Painplay, Post-Thor (2011), Power Dynamics, Pre-Guardians of the Galaxy, Thanos is an abusive father, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, despite the tags there is actually no sex in this fic, not a very nice fic??, nothing is okay and no one is happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>See I've come to burn your kingdom down.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Children of the War

**Author's Note:**

> A long, long time ago I asked my tumblr followers for porn prompts and [sigyndenning](http://sigyndenning.tumblr.com) gave me a prompt for Loki/Nebula where they try to hurt each other and end up being vulnerable. So I started writing, because I'm always intrigued by dysfunctional relationships (which is Loki/Nebula all over) and then it turned into 15,000 words and very, very little sex. But I _did_ end up with something I liked, just the same. And a lot of new Nebula feelings. 
> 
> With infinite gratitude to my beta, [ameliarating](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), who makes time to edit my fic in her busy life. What a love.
> 
> I would also like to note that at various points during this fic, Nebula uses "it" to refer to Loki with very deliberate dehumanizing intent. If that's something that's likely to upset you, please be aware that it is a thing that happens.

 The Chitauri brought it to Thanos with all the pride of children bringing home some broken bauble or bit of space trash to a beloved parent. A bloody and battered thing, squalling as it was dragged along, it was truly pathetic, and Gamora looked away – either in pity or disgust, Nebula wasn’t certain. Because she did, Nebula stared, refusing to so much as glance aside, though she had little interest in what these lackeys hoped would please Thanos. Gamora was weak, soft-hearted. Perhaps eventually their father would see it.

In truth, Gamora was not the only one who was disgusted. Nebula looked at this creature, unlucky enough to find its way here, and felt a well of distaste for this thing that went on living when it was clear it should have perished.

The one who spoke for the Chitauri came forward. “Great lord,” it said, voice rasping and sibilant, and Nebula felt her lip curl. “Our scouts found this skulking in our lands. We believe it may know things of interest to you.” Thanos did not turn, showing little interest. Nebula shifted.

“Father,” she said lazily, “If you wish, I can remove this lot from your presence.”

The Chitauri spokesman hissed. “It says it fell from Asgard,” it said, with a kind of nervous quickness. “It may be a spy.”

“Asgard would not send spies,” Thanos said without turning. Nebula heard an odd sound from the crumpled heap and glanced toward it. She caught a glimpse of its eyes, just for a moment, and jerked her eyes away before she could stop herself. Despair, she thought, and desperation. She was familiar with both. “Besides,” Thanos went on, slowly. “This one is not one of the Aesir. Are you?” The last was addressed to the thing itself. Nebula saw it shudder, its thin lips clamping together. She could have told it there was no use. Thanos the Titan always got what he wanted, in the end. “Are you?” Thanos repeated, this time with the force of his will. The broken thing on the ground shook, but to Nebula’s surprise did not answer.

Her father’s face split into a grin. “You have a stronger will than most, little pretender,” he said, sounding amused. Nebula kept her face still though something inside her twitched with faint recognition. “But I know you just the same.”

“If you are going to kill me,” the creature said, and Nebula was surprised again by the sound of its voice, rasping and harsh. “Have done with it.” Its eyes remained on her, she noticed. Her fingers curled for a weapon though she felt no threat, not from this pathetic thing.

“Giving you to Death would be an honor,” Thanos said, “and not one I grant casually. No, I do not intend to kill you.” Nebula saw Gamora stiffen on the other side of Thanos’ throne. That, Nebula thought, was pity. Thanos smiled, like death. “I intend to use you, little pretender.”

The wretch did not look relieved, and a moment later the last of its strength seemed to give out and it slumped face down onto the rocks. Thanos looked to the Chitauri, then, and added, “go. You have done well.”

“What do you wish done with it,” Nebula asked when they were alone. It looked weak, and she wondered what sort of use Thanos believed it might have.

“I wish him brought to heel,” Thanos said. “Nebula…that duty is yours. See to it as you deem fit.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Gamora said, voice flat and neutral but in a way that made Nebula’s hackles rise.

“Do you think I am incapable, sister?”

“I did not say that,” Gamora said. Thanos said nothing, as usual, watching them as though the interplay amused him. Perhaps it did. That rankled, somehow; perhaps because she knew where she would always fall in their contests.

“You did not need to,” Nebula said flatly, and turned to Thanos. “I will bring it to you within the week, broken to your will. I have never failed you, and I will not start now.”

* * *

Nebula knew little of healing. It was fortunate, she thought, that the creature seemed able to heal itself, and did, though slowly and with much whimpering. She watched it, sharpening a blade across her knees, as it twisted and whined and cried out, as its bones cracked back into place and gashes closed. Gamora came by and Nebula did not look up to acknowledge her.

“Do you pity it,” she asked, inflectionless.

“You don’t,” Gamora said, not a question.

“No.” Nebula examined the edge of her blade, fine but not fine enough. “Then I would be like you.”

“I do not pity him.” Nebula noted the slight correction – or perhaps it was only a distinction.

“Then why look away?”

“It’s disgusting. Pathetic. And I do not like the Chitauri.” The words sounded sincere. Perhaps Gamora even believed them. “They should have killed him.”

“Out of mercy?” Nebula sneered.

“Because he doesn’t deserve to serve our father,” Gamora said.

“Our father believes otherwise.” Nebula stood, and paced over to her new charge, prodding it with her foot. It twitched and let out another little whimper. “I will see his will done.” She prodded the creature again, and this time it opened its eyes and stared at her. She crouched down beside it.

“Is this real?” It said, voice still hoarse, harsh, and strange.

“Yes,” Nebula said, without hesitation. “What does my father want from you?”

“Your father?” The creature’s face was blank. It licked its lips, breathing shallowly and quickly, pale throat bobbing. So much fragile flesh, Nebula thought. Really it was a miracle that it had lived this long, pathetic thing that it was. “Who is-”

Recognition dawned in its eyes. Nebula waited and it licked its lips again.

“I do not know,” it said. Nebula frowned.

“That is a lie,” she said. “You should not lie to me.” There was a still closing wound across its stomach. Nebula dug her fingers in until it tore open again and it screamed, harsh and shrill. The smell of blood was a sharp tang. Nebula heard Gamora leave and did not glance over her shoulder. Let her sister cast her judgments. Nebula cared not at all.

She pulled her hand away and let it pant and squirm until it looked back at her, eyes open wide. It did not look afraid, precisely. It looked tired and hurt, half-starved and more than half-dead. Nebula felt her lip curl.

“You should answer my questions,” she said. “I am not patient and I will not coddle you.”

Its lips curved like it was trying to smile. “I couldn’t…tell.”

Nebula stared at it until its head turned away, the attempt at a smile fading. “What does my father want from you?” She repeated.

“Honestly,” it said, “I’m not certain.” It coughed and spat blood on the ground. “That is the truth.”

“What do _you_ want?” Nebula asked, not bothering to mask the hostility in her tone. “Are you a spy?”

A coughing laugh that seemed to hurt it, based on the way it faded quickly into ragged gasps. “No,” it said. “I am not a spy.”

“What, then?” Nebula asked. She would not have called it curiosity, but few beings came here by choice. Most had learned to avoid this scrap of space.

“Nothing,” it said, and its lips curved in a bloody-toothed smile. “I am nothing. As to what I want…I came here to die.”

Nebula sneered. “Only a coward seeks death.” She would not have said as much in Thanos’ hearing, but she was not in Thanos’ hearing.

There was a mocking light in its pale eyes. “I do not argue that.”

Nebula turned her back, disgusted. “Rest if you will,” she said. “My father has put you in my charge.”

“How fortunate,” it murmured, soft and rough, and closed its eyes again. She left it there. What use Thanos could have for this pathetic thing, she could not think. Perhaps he hoped to make sport of it, though it did not seem as though it would even provide much of that.

Thanos knew what he was doing, Nebula reminded herself. It was not her place to question.

* * *

Nebula brought some food to the creature, dropping it on the stone by where it lay. “Eat,” she said, roughly. “I assume that is something you need to do.”

It did not respond to her. Nebula nudged it with her foot and it did not respond to that, either, but she could see it breathing.

“Eat,” she repeated. Still nothing. Nebula stared down at it in frustration. She had never had a pet – never had much interest in one. She kicked its leg again. “Are you attempting to starve? I will have the Chitauri force it down your throat before that happens.”

It did shift at that, finally. “Why?” it asked.

“Why what?” Nebula snapped. “My father wishes you to serve him. Therefore you will not die. Eat. The Chitauri will not be so kind as I am.”

“Thanos,” it rasped. “Your father.” Nebula narrowed her eyes.

“Have you a point, wretch?”

“You are not the daughter of his loins, I think,” it said, head turning slightly. “Where did he find you, then?”

The question jarred her, and she jerked back, but only for a moment. “Thanos made me,” she said coldly. “In that I am his daughter.” The creature rasped a laugh, and she felt her jaw tighten. “Something amuses you.”

“Did he make you,” it said, “or did he unmake you?”

Nebula moved, slamming one of her boots into its ribs hard enough that she felt something crack. It just laughed and grinned at her. She glanced down and saw that she had overturned the dish. “Eat off the ground, then,” she growled, and stalked away.

She went to Thanos. “It wants to die,” she said. “It refuses to eat. What do you need with it, when you have me and Gamora and the Chitauri?”

“The little pretender knows things I need to know,” Thanos said, scarcely looking at her. “Are you saying you cannot manage him? I am certain Gamora would be willing if you are not.”

Nebula felt herself bristle. “No,” she said harshly. “I am not saying that. I merely do not see the point in it.”

“Do you question me?” Thanos’ voice was mild, as though it were merely a question, but Nebula almost quailed and dropped her eyes, realizing that she’d overstepped.

“No,” she said. “No, father. It will be done as you wish.” She retreated quickly, going back to the creature, still curled on the stone as though it did not intend to move again. The food was still strewn on the ground. _Wasteful,_ Nebula thought angrily, but crouched down again. She grabbed the creature’s collar and shook it until its eyes opened and focused on her.

“What now?” It asked, as though it and not she held the upper hand.

“You will eat,” she said, not a question. It raised one eyebrow, and she fought the urge to lash out. “You will not die, so there is no point in trying.”

“What is my other option?” It asked.

“You do not have one.” She kept her face neutral, implacable. It was not hard. She felt nothing for this creature. “You can humiliate yourself and suffer or simply accept. I suggest the latter. In the end it will hurt less.”

It coughed a laugh, faintly hysterical. “And you are so concerned with what would hurt less.”

“No,” Nebula said, “but you do not know how well you can hurt.”

The creature’s eyes danced. “Are you going to show me?” It asked, sounding as though it were teasing her. Nebula was tempted to kick it again and crack another rib. It was mad, utterly mad; that was the only possible explanation. She turned her back and walked away, trying to ignore its coughing laughter trailing behind.

* * *

She brought more food, which it refused. Nebula broke its wrist and then summoned three Chitauri, two to hold it down while the other forced a funnel between its teeth and poured the ground up paste down its throat. She stood back and watched, letting her eyes lock with its accusing, hate-filled stare whenever its wild, rolling eyes caught her gaze. She waited until the last of the meal, such as it was, vanished down the creature’s gullet, then sent the Chitauri away. It gagged emptily, trembling and exhausted from futile fighting.

“You see,” Nebula said coldly, “there is no point in your fighting.”

“I will not be the Mad Titan’s slave,” it snarled. “Not as you are.”

She broke its other wrist for that. It screamed when she did it, but then laughed when she let go, stuttering and strange as it slumped to the side, arms cradled to its chest. “What amuses you,” she asked.

“You do,” it said. That irked her, and Nebula did not like that it irked her.

“Why should I amuse you?” she demanded.

“Why not?” It asked. Nebula took a step toward it.

“I could shatter you,” she growled. “Do you think I could not?”

It smiled at her. “I do not doubt it,” it said serenely, voice only just touched with pain. “Thanos has crafted a magnificent weapon.”

That prickled at her skin, making something in her stir uneasily. “Do you truly think you can stand against his will?” Nebula asked, making her voice heavy with scorn.

“Maybe not,” it said, “but I can try.”

Nebula wondered where it found such senseless defiance. She sat back on her heels and considered its face, cocking her head to the side. “Do you have a name, creature,” she demanded.

“Do you?” It asked, still curled up and breathing raggedly with pain, but watching her with unexpectedly sharp eyes. It did not seem to care that she was its torturer, or that she had given it nothing but pain. It seemed to care little for anything.

“I am Nebula,” she said finally.

“Nebula. Hm.” It closed its eyes. “And your sister is Gamora.”

She stiffened. “What do you know of my sister?”

It smiled again. “She comes to speak with me when you are not here.” Nebula tensed further and leaned forward, something spiking in her chest.

“Of what?”

It smirked at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She whipped out one of her blades and let the edge rest against its throat. It tipped its head back and smiled more broadly still, leaning forward until the blade split its skin, spilling red blood down the white column of its neck. “What are you going to do?” It asked, voice lilting and amused. “Kill me?”

Nebula bared her teeth and jerked the blade away. “I could make you suffer.”

“Is that a promise?” There was a strange light in its eyes. Nebula stood up and turned away, fuming.

“Whatever Gamora has promised you is not in her power to give,” she said coldly. “She is weak.”

“But not you,” it said.

“I have never been weak,” Nebula said flatly.

“Liar,” it purred. “I should know. Trust me.”

She turned back around and stepped forward, bringing her boot down on one of its wrists until the newly healed bone cracked again and she could feel the edges grind together. It screamed, wriggling  pointlessly, and she waited until it fell limp to step back again.

“Nebula,” it said, and licked its lips, panting. She stared down at it until its eyes opened. “Nebula,” it said again, the syllables stretched out, and she waited for a _please_ or a _stop_ but all it said was “was that always your name?”

“Yes,” she said flatly, but some part of her deeply buried whispered _no._

* * *

“Have you made any progress with the prisoner?” Gamora asked her. They faced each other with functional blades, and Nebula wondered what would happen the day hers slipped in the repetitive movements and slashed through Gamora’s throat.

“You have been visiting it,” Nebula said, falling into the stance. Gamora mirrored it, her expression smoothed blank. “It is my charge. Perhaps you have forgotten.”

“I was curious,” Gamora said. Nebula snorted. “And that wasn’t my question.”

“It is stubborn,” Nebula said finally, reluctantly. “More so than I expected.”

“Anyone that survived a fall through the Void would have to be,” Gamora said. Nebula gave her a sharp look.

“What?”

“That is how he came here,” Gamora said, seeming faintly surprised. “Did you not know? He informed me as much with little prompting.”

“Why did you speak with it,” Nebula asked. The creature had told her as much, but she could not imagine what he sister had to say to that thing. Gamora shrugged, and Nebula felt a twinge of resentment, almost jealousy. “What did it say?” Gamora shrugged again, and batted Nebula’s strike aside, moving fluidly into the next form.

“A great deal and nothing at all. He needled me. And asked about you.”

Nebula felt her spine draw taut. It had asked about her? She bristled at that, at the idea that it might know anything of her, that she could be an object of curiosity for such a creature. “And what did you say of me, sister?”

“Nothing.” It sounded honest, but perhaps was not. There was no way to be sure. Nebula did not make the mistake of trusting Gamora any more than Gamora trusted her; such was an easy way to die among Thanos’s children.

Nebula went back to the creature and found it sitting up. “You asked Gamora about me,” she said without preamble, and it looked up from where it was examining its hands with startling intensity.

“I did,” it said. Nebula narrowed her eyes.

“Why?”

“I was curious,” it said with a slight shrug, and then cocked its head to one side. “Do you hate her?”

Nebula sneered. “Why should I share such things with you, creature?”

Its eyes slid away from her, staring somewhere else. “I had a brother once. Or thought I did. I killed him.”

“Do you expect this to matter to me?” Nebula asked, her voice harsh. She had thought about killing Gamora, but something always held her back from actually doing so. Perhaps the fear that she would lose that fight. “I do not care for your pathetic life story.”

It raised its eyes to her. “And yet you do want something from me.”

“Thanos wants something from you,” Nebula corrected. “I will see that he gets it.”

“But you do not know what it is.” The creature leaned back against a rock, half-lidded eyes on her. Nebula took a step toward it but it did not flinch back. “You’re little more than Thanos’ dog, aren’t you? Licking after his scraps, fawning for his attention. You bite on his command.” Its lips curled up at the corners. “I know what that’s like.”

She hauled it up by the front of its leather garb without thinking and struck it across the face. Its lip split and it laughed and grinned at her.

“I am a daughter of Thanos,” she hissed.

“And I am a son of Odin,” it said, and she did not know why it laughed, blood on its teeth. She dropped it.

“What you are is a fool and a madman,” she said. “Why Thanos wants you I cannot say. But whatever he wants, he will have. I will not play your games any further.”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” It said, wiping blood from its lips with the back of its hand. Nebula turned her back.

“No,” she said. “Perhaps the Chitauri will.”

She saw it flinch out of the corner of her eye, but it did not call her back.

* * *

The creature screamed under the Chitauri torturers, screamed and writhed and bled rivers of red blood and did not give way. It howled curses in languages Nebula didn’t understand, and she sat by and watched as it spat in the faces of its tormenters until the fight was bled out of it and it simply quivered.

She gestured the Chitauri away, then, and padded to its side. “Thor,” she heard it whisper, voice harsh and broken. “Thor, please.”

“Do you wish this to end,” she asked, voice cold and flat.

“Yes,” it said, voice breathless and weak, and tipped its head back, baring its throat to her.

“Serve Thanos,” she said, “and it will.”

It shuddered and let out a harsh, sobbing laugh. “Has it for you?” it asked, and Nebula jerked back. “We’re both trapped, you and I. Maybe your chains are thinner, but he still holds the leash.” Its head lolled wearily to the side. “I am not a tool or a weapon.”

“You are whatever Thanos wishes you to be,” Nebula said, and her voice came out sounding harsh. Something prickled uneasily on the back of her neck. “You will accept that.”

“No,” it said, breathed. “I will – I will never-”

“You will,” she said. There was a lump in her throat, or it felt as though there was. “There is no other choice.”

She stepped back. The Chitauri closed in again, and this time when it started screaming she could not watch, feeling sickness in the pit of her stomach. Nebula could not have said why and it seemed wrong that it should bother her at all. Perhaps Gamora’s weakness had infected her, somehow. She would find out how it had, and purge all of it from her.

* * *

Nebula sent the Chitauri away. They seemed disappointed to lose their plaything once more, Nebula thought, and was disgusted. She watched the creature as it healed, listened to its small, pitiful noises.

“You are weak,” she said, soft and vicious. It did not answer, and she huffed out a breath.

“Why do you serve him,” it asked, suddenly, barely more than a sigh. It took Nebula a moment to understand.

“Because he is my father,” she said, once she did. “What other reason is there?”

“Perhaps no other.” The creature sighed, the sound small and pained. Nebula leaned forward.

“Why do you fight? You must know now that you will not win.”

“Did you fight? Whatever you were before…” The creature made a gesture with one limp hand. Nebula stared at it and tried to remember. Searing, like a flash in her mind, came the image of Gamora standing over her. _I’m sorry,_ her sister said, and when Nebula raised a clumsy hand to touch her face her fingers looked wrong, distorted. She hurt in every fiber of her being.

“He is not a bad master,” Nebula said, but against her bidding her voice sounded uncertain. The creature made a small sound in the back of its throat, then turned and spat up red blood. Nebula looked at it, mesmerized.

“Which is he,” it asked. “Master or father?”

“How much difference is there?” Nebula asked, and for some reason the creature laughed at that, stuttering and strange.

“Perhaps none,” it said. It was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “if I surrender. What then?”

“I will take you to Thanos to receive your orders,” Nebula said, keeping her voice calm and neutral, though a peculiar hope sprang up in her, to her surprise. The creature sighed, but though she waited a moment, no further words were forthcoming. Its eyes were closed and it breathed in slow, rasping rhythm. Nebula stared at it, eyes narrowed.

Eventually, she turned her back. “Wait,” It said. Its inhale burbled wetly. “Don’t leave me.”

Something twisted in her belly. She felt her lip curl. “Why should I not? I am not your pet.”

“No,” it said, and smiled, sharp and bitter. “Aren’t I yours?” Nebula strode back to look down at it, and it looked back at her, eyes slits with pain. “Nebula,” it said. “A collection of – of matter that will someday form a star.”

“What do you want,” she hissed, and realized too late her error, in treating this _thing_ like it could have desires at all. It just closed its eyes again, though, head falling to the side.

“I told you already,” it said, voice slurring. “It’s not my fault you weren’t listening.”

* * *

“Nebula,” Thanos said, voice vibrating in her bones. “I understand you have not yet broken our guest.”

Nebula bowed her head, thought _do not punish me for that creature’s stubbornness._ “It is more obstinate than I expected. But I do not think it will last for much longer.”

“You do not think?” Thanos said, his voice mild. Nebula hunched her shoulders.

“I know,” she corrected. “I know it will not last for much longer.”

“It had better be so,” Thanos said. “Or I will be disappointed. Do not make me regret giving this task to you instead of Gamora. I am sure she would have managed it ably.”

Nebula slunk off, feeling angry and defeated. She wanted to kill something. Rip out something’s heart and feel it pumping in her hand. The creature had been moved back to its cell and she went there and watched it sleep, restless and crying out as it twitched. She imagined closing her hand around its throat and ripping it out. Would Thanos kill her for that? Or perhaps simply replace the parts of her that were still flesh with metal as well.

She felt a flash of anger and kicked it in the ribs. “Get up,” she said. “Look at me.” It got up, slowly, and looked at her. Its eyes were dull. It looked tired. “You want to die,” she said, voice harsh. “Why?”

“Why not,” it said.

“What would you do if I promised to kill you?” Nebula asked. It looked like it wanted to laugh.

“Nothing,” it said, finally. “I don’t believe in promises.” Nebula stared at it, frustrated, and after a moment it looked away. “How long have you been here,” it asked. “Do you know? How long have you been Thanos’ daughter?”

Nebula shrugged. “There is no measure of time in this place.”

“No,” it said, sounding oddly melancholy. It made Nebula’s skin crawl. “I suppose there is not.” It took a slow breath, only to stop halfway through, one hand going to its ribs. “I surrender,” it said, looking at her. “Whatever your father wishes…I will do it.”

Strangely, Nebula felt a pang. She was almost….disappointed. “Why?” She asked, frowning. The creature turned and looked at her for a moment.

“Why not,” he said again, and let out a kind of strangled, hollow sounding laugh.

* * *

He knelt before Thanos and swore allegiance, voice smooth and assured, but he still screamed when Thanos plundered his mind. The Chitauri leader caught him when he swayed and Nebula could almost taste the metal as it burned the link into the creature’s head. “I will speak with you later,” Thanos said, and Nebula watched him shudder, back bowed. “In private. I expect your magic will serve me well.”

“Yes, my lord,” croaked the creature. The Chitauri leader released him and he stood, swaying. “I will do as you ask.”

It was, Nebula thought, almost anticlimactic.

“You did well, Nebula,” Thanos said, and she basked in his praise. “You will be rewarded. But I need you to watch this false Asgardian. His heart is weak, and I will not have him stray from me.”

 _This is demeaning,_ Nebula thought. _You would not give Gamora such a duty,_ but she inclined her head and left to go find the creature once again. She found him near an edge of a shattered piece of rock, legs crossed and sitting very still.

“I wondered if you would come looking for me,” he said.

“Not by my choice,” she said shortly. “According to my father you are still in my keeping.”

“Thanos doesn’t trust me, then,” he said. “Perhaps he’s not so mad after all.” He let out a quiet laugh, though Nebula was not certain what for. Everything she saw only made her more certain that this…false Asgardian was the mad one.

“What is your name,” she asked, finally. He did not turn to look at her.

“You asked me that before. You did not seem to care when I didn’t answer.”

“It didn’t matter before,” she shot back. “I can continue to call you ‘it’ if you want.”

“Was that humor?” It asked, sounding amused. She scowled and said nothing. “Loki,” he said, finally. “Was my name.”

Nebula narrowed her eyes. “Was?” He shrugged one shoulder and leaned forward as though thinking about tipping off and falling. She just waited, remembering Thanos’ warning about his weak heart.

“Is, I suppose,” he said finally. “I do not have another.” Nebula just looked at him, and finally he stood, brushing invisible dust off of his legs. One hand rose toward his temple, and she caught a quiet mutter, “I will snap that creature’s neck for daring…” and then he seemed to notice her staring, and cut off.

“Is there somewhere I can wash?” He asked. “Or is that not something that is done here?” There was something a little scathing to his voice. It made Nebula bristle.

“There are chemical showers that are sufficient for us,” she said flatly. The creature – Loki – looked at her for a long moment.

“But no water, I take it,” he said, and sighed heavily. “Very well. I suppose a rinse in disinfectant is better than nothing. You really need to work on your hospitality, I must say.”

Nebula let her lip curl. “If I cared perhaps I would.”

“You don’t care about my comfort, Lady Nebula?”

She bared her teeth at him. “Do not mock me. I doubt that my father requires you with all of your fingers.”

He held up both hands, as though in submission, but his eyes danced with amusement. “My mistake. I will say no more. I would hate to offend you further.”

“Then be silent,” Nebula snapped. “You would be certain not to offend me with that. Do you want to use the showers or not?” He did not respond, just looked at her with overly wide eyes. Nebula wondered if his species could survive having their spines broken. She did not like this wretched creature, but she could not admit defeat either. “This way,” she said curtly, turning on her heel. The silence was almost a relief, though Nebula doubted it would last for long.

* * *

“Thanos,” Loki said as they approached the showers. “Your…father. Tell me about him.”

“Why should I,” Nebula said, tonelessly. She indicated the showers. “There. They last for five minutes. You can turn them on by pressing the button on the wall. Is that simple enough for you?”

“Quite,” he said. “Are you going to give me some privacy or…?” Nebula just looked at him, and after a moment he shrugged. “As you wish.” He turned his back to her and began removing his clothing. “As for why you should tell me about Thanos…I am to be his agent now, am I not? I would not want to offend by mistake.”

“If you offend him you will know,” Nebula said. He shrugged out of the coat, and she noticed for the first time that he was moving gingerly, as though still in pain. She narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

“I would sooner not have to experience the inevitable pain of finding out.” Nebula scoffed, and he turned, for a moment looking slightly irritated. “You would call that cowardice, perhaps.”

“Not cowardice,” Nebula said. “Simply fear. That is a weakness. Thanos does not like weakness.”

He stripped out of his strange tunic and dropped it aside. It was not the first time she had seen his bare chest, though most recently it had been more blood than skin. There were still healing scars crossing luminously pale flesh, red and raised. Her eyes followed them with interest. “Is that what he was trying to do with you? Create a being without weakness?”

Nebula raised her eyes to his face. He was looking at her with a strange expression. “You talk too much,” she said.

“So many have told me.” He turned his back, bending over and beginning to unlace his boots. “So. Thanos does not like weakness. What does he _like?_ ”

Nebula kept her lips sealed. She could not see the danger in telling this creature anything, but that did not mean there was no danger, and she doubted Thanos would be pleased either way. “Thanos calls you a false Asgardian,” she said. “What does he mean?”

For a moment, he was still. Then he straightened and turned to her, beginning to unfasten his pants. “Are you curious about me, Lady Nebula?” There was a slight cock to his hips, a faint curve to his lips. Nebula recognized flirtation, dimly, but it seemed absurd. She fought the urge to turn around, staring at him in defiance as he undressed.

It was scarcely the first time she’d seen him naked, but this was…different. She focused on his scars instead of his body: the shiny burn scar on his shoulder; the angry red line over his ribs. Nebula supposed he might be considered handsome. She had little metric for such things. In the end, he seemed to become uncomfortable first, turning his back on her to discard the last of his clothing, shoulders hunched as he retreated to the shower and pushed the button to turn it on.

He washed thoroughly, scrubbing with hands and nails until his skin was bright red, running his fingers through his hair over and over until they slid through easily without catching on tangles. Nebula watched him the whole time, though she was not certain what she was looking for. By the time he finished and turned back to her, after running the shower six times of its allotted duration, she still had not found it. He looked at the clothing he’d cast off in distaste, and with a sharp gesture it burst into flame. Nebula jerked back, startled. “What-”

She clamped her lips closed at once, ashamed of her outburst, but he had heard it and grinned. “Magic,” he said. “I have some skill in it.”

Nebula gave him a flat stare and said nothing. He smirked, though, seeming amused by her silence. “We do not have extra clothing for you to wear,” she said finally. “Are you planning to go about naked?”

“No,” he said, and closed his eyes. Out of nowhere, clothing materialized, settling on his body, robing him in fresh black leather accented with gold. It was different than what he’d worn before, though similar. Nebula did not let her eyes widen, unwilling to show any sign that she was impressed. He held out his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Does it suit me?”

It made him look broader, she noticed. His shoulders more defined, his silhouette bulkier. “I liked the other better,” she said. “It suited you more.”

The slight smile and playfulness vanished. “It belonged to a dead man,” he said. Nebula scoffed and turned away. It was petty, she knew, but it still gave her pleasure, and there were very few things that did that.

* * *

Thanos summoned Loki to him frequently. Nebula did not know what they discussed; she was not invited. After one such meeting, however, he found her where she was sharpening her blade, staggering into her alcove. His breathing sounded wet and when she looked up to see him leaning against the stone wall he looked pale and sick.

Nebula did not stand, just looked at him and waited.

“Your father is cruel,” Loki said. “But then I suspect you know that.” He laughed. That sounded wet, too, like there was blood in his lungs. Nebula cocked her head to the side and set her blade down across her knees.

“You must have angered him,” she said. “He is not cruel to those who please him.”

“Who please-” Loki folded gracelessly to his knees, bending forward to spit on the ground. “You must not have pleased him, then.”

Nebula felt her body coil tight. _I have tried,_ she wanted to hiss. _I have always tried. He does not care for my efforts or for me, only for Gamora, Gamora who is soft, Gamora who is weak._ She said nothing.

“Do you know what he wants,” Loki said, not truly a question. “Do you know – what he seeks? He will destroy everything. _Everything._ ”

“Yes,” Nebula said simply.

“Do you not _care?_ ” He sounded surprised. Nebula narrowed her eyes. “Even if – he will destroy you as well.” _If only I were so lucky,_ Nebula thought. She wasn’t sure there was enough flesh and soul in her to make her an offering for Death. She kept her face still like stone. Loki stared at her and made a kind of incredulous sound. “You don’t care. You would watch this universe burn and not even blink.”

“Why should I?” Nebula asked. “Why should you?” She meant the question sincerely, but he stared at her like he did not understand it and then just bent over, shuddering, the back of one of his hands covering his mouth. After a long moment she set her blade aside and stood up.  “Perhaps you won’t have to worry,” she said flatly. “With your weakness he may not keep you alive that long.”

His shoulders tensed. “I am not weak.”

She snorted. He pushed himself to his feet and lifted his chin as though he expected her to be impressed. He stared at her for a long moment and then something shifted.

“Why did he do this to you?” He asked. Something in his tone made Nebula stiffen.

“Thanos improved me,” she said. Her voice came out harsh. “I am stronger than I was. Faster.”

“Then you do remember something,” Loki said, taking a step forward. “What you were like before this.” Nebula went still. Flashes. Screaming, blood, and pain, sometimes. Those were her memories. She resisted the urge to bare her teeth.

“I was nothing.”

“Do you believe that?”

No. She did not. Nebula moved, quicker than thought, and grabbed him by the throat. She slammed him back into the rock wall. His flesh was soft against the metal under her skin. It gave easily under the pressure of her fingers and he choked, his body spasming – but he didn’t fight her. His eyes closed and his head tipped back, exposing more of his neck.

Nebula let go and jerked away. Loki dropped to the ground, coughing.

“What I was before does not matter,” she said harshly. “I am what I am now.”

He did not argue as she stalked away, though she thought she heard him wheeze with laughter.

* * *

“What is it he does for you,” Nebula asked Thanos. He did not so much as look at her.

“It is no concern of yours, Nebula. Suffice it to say that he does what I ask.” Nebula stared at him, wishing she dared to demand. Instead, she went to another source.

“What is it Thanos wishes you to do,” she asked. Loki looked as though he was meditating. When he did not answer, she kicked him, though not hard. “Answer me.”

“I have been ordered not to speak of it.” He opened one eye to look up at her. “So I will not. I have no wish to see the color of my entrails again. Or worse.” That answer made Nebula sullen. She did not like the idea of secrets being kept from her, especially by her father.

“Perhaps I will do the same if you do not tell me,” she said.

“If you will pardon me, my lady,” Loki said calmly, unfolding his legs and standing, “I would sooner risk your wrath than… _his._ ” He turned to her, and cocked his head. “He would not tell you.”

Nebula resisted the urge to bare her teeth and simply stared at him. Loki looked away first. “Apparently,” she said, “I do not need to be informed.” The moment the words were out she regretted them. They sounded almost like disloyalty and she could hear the bitterness underneath. By the sharp look he gave her, Loki heard it as well.

“Surely your father knows best,” he said. Nebula drew her blade and stepped toward him, anger surging in her throat.

“I know mockery when I hear it,” she hissed. “Do not think I do not. And I have not heard that my father requires your tongue to do his bidding.”

His lips curved, uncowed by the threat. “It seems as though you have fallen in his favor. I am useful. Do you think he would take kindly to the mutilation of such a tool as I?”

“I do not think he would care,” Nebula said, but something in her quivered with doubt. Had she fallen even further in Thanos’s eyes, to rest now below even this – piece of space trash? She let the knife drop, though she did not sheath it. “But you are not worth my steel.”

That made him flinch. “I am bitterly disappointed you should think so,” he said, however, pressing a hand to his heart in a theatrical gesture. “Your estimation means so much to me.”

“Does it,” Nebula said flatly. Something in him shifted, the bitterness bleeding sideways.

“He plays you,” Loki said, his voice lowering, eyes glancing over his shoulder. “You and your sister both, and watches you dance on your strings. It amuses him.”

Nebula felt her mouth twist. “I know this.”

His eyes on her were sharp. “Why not stop dancing?”

 _As though it were that easy,_ she thought, and _what else is there? He is my father. He made me._ “It was the same when there were others,” she said instead, her voice bland. “Other children. There were perhaps twenty of us at one point.” His expression registered surprise.

“Do I want to ask where they are now?” He asked, after a moment.

“Some of them stopped dancing,” she said. “All of them are dead.” _No one gets away. No one ever gets away._ She turned her back.

“So you are afraid,” he said. “That is why you continue. Because you fear what he will do to you if you do not obey.” Nebula tensed.

“No,” she said (she lied). “I am simply not a traitor.”

* * *

Gamora was gone. On a mission, she was told. Something of import. It was meant to rankle and it did.

She went to Loki, who she found moving through a series of motions that looked something like dancing. “You said you killed your brother,” she said, without ceremony. “What did it feel like?”

He fell still, and did not answer for a long moment. She took a prowling step forward and was about to demand his answer when he turned to her, a strange expression on his face. “Why do you ask?”

“I am curious.”

His throat worked, and for a moment she thought he would cry, but then he let out a stuttering laugh. “It felt…liberating. I was free, for the first time in my life. His shadow no longer hung over me, and I…” He trailed off, another odd expression she couldn’t read flickering across his face. “And then that was gone. In the end, it accomplished nothing.”

Nebula frowned. “He was dead. How can you call that nothing?”

“Death is less permanent than you might believe,” Loki said, his smile crooked. “For a god. I thought I was dead.”

“You _wished_ you were dead,” Nebula said, and he looked at her for a moment and then inclined his head a fraction. “My sister,” she continued. “If I kill her, she will not rise from it.”

Loki’s expression twitched, very slightly. “Your sister is strong.”

Nebula bared her teeth and took an angry step forward. “ _I_ am strong. Do you suggest otherwise?”

Loki did not step back. “You are brittle,” he said, voice perfectly calm. “One push in the wrong place and you would snap.”

She lunged at him again, this time with blade bared. He answered her with fists and feet deflecting her blows, quick and lithe, ducking under her slashes, duplicating himself with flickering images that distracted her attention. However quick, though, his movements had a pattern that her eyes could catch, and instead of aiming for where he was she slashed her knife for where he would be and was rewarded with blood and a sharp intake of breath. A moment later he laughed, though, and attacked again. He was skilled, Nebula had to admit – perhaps as skilled as her sister. But he was playing with her, not attacking to hurt. The awareness made her angry.

She kicked for his knee hard enough to snap bone and when he leapt back pursued her advantage, pouncing on him, knee in his stomach and knife to his throat. He hit the stone hard, head cracking against it. Nebula straddled his waist and pinned his arms to the stone with one hand as he looked up at her, chest heaving.

“Would you still call me brittle now?” She demanded. He laughed, sounding breathless.

“I would call myself out of practice,” he said, and leaned his head up against the blade of her knife, smiling. “Yes, I would. Look how easily I goaded you to frenzy.”

“That does not make me _brittle,_ ” Nebula said angrily. She let the blade press into his skin, just on the edge of drawing blood. “I could sever your neck and let you bleed dry, wretch.”

“But you will not,” Loki said, his lips still smiling though his eyes did not match the expression. “Because you fear him.”

“So do you,” Nebula spat back.

“I have never denied that.”

Nebula snarled in his face and pulled the knife back, but before he could gloat in his triumph she stabbed it through his shoulder, piercing all the way through and driving it into the ground. He cried out, short and sharp, body jerking under her. “ _You_ are weak,” she said. “ _Gamora_ is weak. I-”

 She faltered, because there was something eerily serene about Loki’s expression. He panted with pain but his eyes were closed and he was not struggling. She yanked the knife out and he made a soft sound in his throat that made Nebula scramble to her feet and away. She remembered the way he had tilted his head back when she’d had her hand around his throat.

“You are using me,” she said, eyes narrowing and anger welling up hot in her belly. “You want me to hurt you.” He did not rise, simply smiled at her. Nebula could not have explained the fury she felt. “You say Thanos is making me dance. You would do the same.”

“That is what I do,” he said. “I use people.”

“You will not use me,” she snarled.

“That is Thanos’s privilege alone?” He pushed himself up, smoothly, one hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder. Looking at him, a part of Nebula wanted to stab the other one, to make him match. His voice mocked her but his gaze said something else. There was a pressure building up inside her chest Nebula did not know how to dispel. “His weapon to wield?”

 _I am not a weapon. I am his daughter._ Even in her thoughts that tasted false. “You are mad,” she spat.

“We both are,” Loki said. “We are both mad things, my lady. And neither of us can dance forever.”

* * *

Nebula did not dream.

She had not dreamed, not for a long time: but now something crept up at the back of her mind, not a dream but something like. She did not sleep as her sister did, or other creatures made only of flesh and blood. Nevertheless, sometimes she shut down for a time, and her mind went winging off somewhere else. Nebula did not like to call them dreams, but she supposed that was what they were. Sometimes in them she remembered things she did not want to.

There was the smell of smoke in her nostrils and the sky was red. There was sticky blood on her hands and something heavy on top of her. She whimpered something, but when she tried to remember the words they fled from her.

There was no more.

Gamora returned. She did not say where she had been sent, nor did Nebula ask. There was an odd tightness about her mouth and she avoided Nebula more than usual. Nebula did not try to kill her. She did not speak to Loki, either.

He came to her, bleeding from the nose and ears and sobbing as she’d heard him do when the Chitauri were cutting him open. She stood at a distance, waiting for it to stop, and when it did not she crouched down next to him. “What do you do to anger him,” she asked.

He shook his head, pushing himself to his hands and knees. “Should I not – should I not be able to keep some things for myself?” He asked. He touched his fingers to his upper lip and stared at their bloody tips. “Just a few – a few small things.”

“Nothing is yours,” Nebula said flatly. “Not anymore. You swore yourself to him.”

His head dropped back down and he made a soft, unhappy sound in the back of his throat. For a flash of a moment, Nebula almost felt pity for him. It did not last and passed quickly to a feeling of discomfort settled in her belly.

“You did not realize,” she said, not quite softly. “When you are his, everything you have is his. He does not accept partial service or half measures. You give him everything or he will take it.” _As he took Gamora, and all the rest. As he took me._ The thought whispered into her mind and she pushed it away, or tried, but its traces lingered. “There are no secrets from my father.”

The sound Loki made was an awful sort of whine. “I begin to understand,” he said, voice rasping. “I am sorry. Oh Norns. I am sorry.”

She drew back, sharply. “Do not apologize to me,” Nebula snapped. “I am not something like – like _you,_ to be pitied. I am his daughter.” But not a favored one. Loki did not respond, and she grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “ _Listen_ to me. I will not have-”

She broke off. His eyes were closed and his body moved limply with her shaking. Nebula pulled away with a noise of disgust. _Fragile,_ she thought angrily. _Flesh is weak. He is weak. Soon he will die; it is inevitable._

She did not move away, however. For some reason that thought brought her no pleasure or relief. Nebula sat watching his unconscious body in silence and could almost feel the gears whirring in her mind, energy moving through the circuitry-synapses of her brain.

* * *

“You have been spending a fair amount of time with the prisoner, lately,” Gamora said. Nebula flexed her fingers.

“Yes,” she said. “Our father ordered me to keep an eye on him.”

Gamora’s expression was difficult to read. Nebula had always struggled to read Gamora’s expressions, to divine Gamora’s thoughts. Her sister was a mystery to her, as deep as the chasms of space between the pieces of shattered planet that was their home. “What do you think of him?” Gamora asked, finally. Nebula shrugged.

“I am surprised that he has survived this long.”

Gamora nodded. “He is stubborn,” she agreed, and then added, “as stubborn as you are.”

Nebula wanted to bare her teeth. She could almost hear fondness in Gamora’s voice and it angered her, _how dare you act as though there can be anything but hatred between us, as though we are anything but enemies._ “Do not compare him to me.”

Gamora weighed her weapon in one hand. “I didn’t mean to offend you, sister. You _are_ stubborn. It is one of your strengths.”

 _Not strength enough._ Nebula thought of Gamora standing above her saying I’m sorry, her own hands strange and foreign _._ _What good do your apologies do? Our father loves you. I am an experiment._ “I doubt he will last much longer. He persists in displeasing our father despite the cost to himself of doing so.”

“I don’t know.” Gamora sounded thoughtful. “It is possible, I suppose.”

Nebula looked down at her hands, flexed them again. She imagined she could feel the metal under her skin. “You remember your family,” she said. It was not a question, and the sudden stillness and tension in the air did not surprise her.

“My family is here.” Gamora’s voice was flat. “You are my sister, and Thanos is my father.”

“Do not lie to me,” Nebula said, scornful. _Did I have a family? Was I ever flesh and blood? Or did Thanos craft me from nothing, a thinking machine, metal and skin that believes it is alive?_

“Why mention them,” Gamora said flatly. “They are dead. And I do not lie. You are my sister.” She didn’t mention Thanos this time, Nebula noticed.

“You were here before me,” she said, gaze unmoving, and this time Gamora did look away. “Do you remember when I came?”

“Yes,” Gamora said, after a long moment. “I do.”

Nebula looked at her hand and grabbed her thumb, cracked it out of joint. It did not hurt and corrected itself the moment she let go, the technology that held her together weaving itself back into place. “Was I like this, then?” Her voice held no emotion. Gamora’s expression was not hard to read now. She looked upset and angry, but Nebula could not be certain of the source.

“Nebula,” she said, the tone of her voice one of apology. _I’m sorry,_ her sister said in her not-dreams; fragments imprinted on her being, stamped into the metal of her bones. Nebula snarled.

“Do not apologize,” she said. “Simply answer the question.”

“No,” Gamora said after a long pause. “You were not…like this.”

Nebula felt the urge to tremble, but only deep within. Her body remained steady. _I did not exist before that moment when he changed me. What I was before was not me. This –_ this _is me._ Anger was sour in her throat and suddenly she did not want to look at Gamora anymore. She turned on her heel.

“Nebula,” Gamora said, calling her back.

“Whatever you have to say,” Nebula said, her voice guttural, little more than a snarl. “I do not want it.”

Her sister did not speak again. Nebula’s breathing felt harsh and loud and she held it in exasperation, but her lungs began to ache before too long. Her fury was too hot in her, too sharp, and she could almost feel it spilling out of her.

She went to find Loki.

* * *

He was standing alone, hands clasped behind his back and eyes far distant. She strode up behind him on quiet feet. “Turn and face me,” she said, nearly vibrating with the anger she could scarcely control. “Look at me and tell me what you want.”

He did turn, slowly. His expression was like Gamora’s: difficult to read, but she recognized some of it. Something that cut nearly too close to pity, and hunger. “What do you mean?” Loki asked.

“You crave pain,” Nebula said bluntly. “When I hurt you, it gives you pleasure.”

His eyes were sharp. She thought she saw something of mocking in their depths, but that did not seem right. “It seems you have answered your own question.”

Nebula took a step toward him, drawing the blade sheathed at her hip. “Do not think I will hold back,” she warned. “Do not think I will be kind.”

He laughed, his head tilting back to look at her down his nose. His tongue touched his teeth briefly and then he licked his lips. “I have never been much of one for limits,” he said, voice dry, but she could see his excitement in the way he trembled. Nebula’s pulse beat harder, faster.

She took a step toward him and he looked back at her evenly. He licked his lips. “And you, Lady Nebula?” He asked, voice light. “What do you want?”

Her lips peeled back from her teeth. “Do not mock me,” she snarled, rage beating in her like a heart. She closed on him and let her blade rest against his bared throat. “I will not be mocked, by you or anyone.”

Loki’s throat quivered under the knife. “Do it,” he urged, and for a moment she almost did. Thanos might kill her for her disobedience, but Nebula did not fear death.

She pulled the blade away from his throat and watched the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Fight me,” she said, her voice harsh.

“Is that what you want?” His eyes were hooded and dark. Once again, she couldn’t read them. It made her angry, and she wondered if Gamora would be able to, if this was one of those flesh mysteries that she would never understand.

“ _Fight me,_ ” she repeated again, more loudly, and in a flick of his wrist his armor rippled away to leave him naked to the waist. He held a slender knife of his own in one hand, smiling at her in the moment before he struck like a snake, fluid and quick.

Loki fought like a shadow, flickering around her, knife flashing, but the illusions he cast did not deceive Nebula’s eyes and she remembered when he’d baited her before. Her knife scored his arm and then his chest; her nostrils flared as she smelled blood and closed in, her hand reaching out to catch his throat, her fingers closing on flesh, grasping, tightening.  

Nebula slammed Loki down onto his back hard enough that his head cracked against the stone, fingers locked around his neck tight enough that she could feel him choking. The rage was pounding in her ears now, and a part of her wanted to squeeze harder, to keep squeezing until Loki went silent and still.

She clenched her fingers around the hilt of her blade and stabbed it through Loki’s shoulder instead; the other one, not the one she’d marked before. He let out a breathless noise and thrashed, and Nebula swung a leg over him and straddled his waist to pin him down more easily, twisting the weapon until she felt the edge grind against bone.

“Gah-!” Loki’s shout was loud, shattering the air around them. Something pulsed in Nebula in answer, a pleased, powerful feeling, her eyes fixing on the ugly red of the wound, blood spurting around the metal and flesh torn in its wake. His chest heaved, sucking in a breath, and she jerked the knife free.

“You are weak,” she said, her voice a snarl. “You call me brittle. I do not know why Thanos would consider you useful. You should have died before you came here.” He shuddered, but his right hand flashed for her eyes. She blocked it with her blade, slicing deep into his palm. His left hand gripped her leg hard enough that she might have bruised if she were capable.  

“Do you – envy me that I could?” Loki said. His pupils were dilated and his breathing elevated. Fury rose up in Nebula’s chest, choking her. “Can you die? Or will you simply go on existing – _ah!_ ”

He broke off as Nebula slashed across his chest, deep enough for the blade to scrape bone. His back arched and Nebula used her weight to shove him back down, grinding the heel of her free hand into the fresh wound in his shoulder. The yelp broke off into something like a moan.

“Don’t test me,” she said. “I could still sever your fingers, or your tongue.” A full body shudder ran through him again.

“Why don’t you do it,” he rasped, and smiled at her, all teeth and mad as a space rat. “You say you _could._ But you _won’t._ ” Nebula brought her blade up to hover over his throat again and he cut off, breath hitching, eyes closing.

“Not yet,” she said. “When Thanos tires of you, maybe I will be the one to kill you.”

Her knife was sharp. Barely resting it against skin was enough to make his blood bloom, a thin red line on the pale skin of his neck. He shuddered and gasped, pressing up towards her. Nebula pushed him back down with a sharp little pulse of satisfaction. A part of her wondered, faintly, what it would be like to bleed. What would it feel like, to slice open her patchwork skin and have torn veins pump out blood instead of sparks.

Looking down at Loki, gasping, the color high in his face, Nebula paused. She could feel his arousal pressing against her body, and considered cutting the rest of his clothes away and mounting him. She knew the principles of such a thing. The thought gave her no pleasure, though, only a feeling of vague distaste. The anger had ebbed away, leaving her head clear, and looking down at Loki she suddenly thought of him as she’d seen him before, sobbing and writhing under the attention of the Chitauri.

She pulled back and away, pushing herself to her feet. Loki made a keening sound of objection that she ignored. His eyes opened to slits.

“Nebula,” he said, a plea.

“I am done,” she answered. “You may finish yourself. I have no interest in your penis.”

She turned her back and walked away as he began to fumble at his trousers, letting out a gasp of a breath. Nebula paused for a moment, listening to him struggle not to cry out, not to make a sound.

* * *

Nebula did not often think about her actions. She acted because something needed to be done; something needed to be done and so she would act. She did not think on them afterwards, moving forward rather than glancing back.

She found herself troubled, however, by what she’d done with Loki. The feeling was not a familiar one, nor comfortable.

He was a burden, unwanted and unlooked for. He was weak, pathetic, a wretched mad thing with little to recommend him. A task given to Nebula to demean her and distract her, while Gamora received the duties of any importance.

Nebula did not hate him, not as she hated Gamora. She would have claimed indifference, but that was not right either.

 _We are both mad things,_ his voice whispered at the back of her mind. _And neither of us can dance forever._

It had pleased her to hurt him. It had pleased him to be hurt by her. She had found it…gratifying. More than that: calming. That puzzled her as well. Pain was something to be given or received as punishment. It was not something to savor. Even Loki had not enjoyed it from the Chitauri. What was the difference, she wondered, between her knife and theirs?

The thought drifted across Nebula’s mind as she stared emptily at space that he had spoken to her several times something very near to the treachery that Thanos had warned of. Not quite crossing the line, but near it nonetheless. He hated Thanos, she thought, for all he’d sworn himself to his service. Hated and feared him, perhaps in equal measure.

_(Like you?)_

Nebula’s fingers trembled at her side. _You would be nothing without him,_ she thought savagely. _He is your father, your maker, your master. Without him you would be weak, fragile flesh, easily torn, easily broken, likely dead._

The words rang hollow.

Thanos who had ignored her, slighted her, forgotten her. Who had crafted her into a thing of metal and wires, not flesh but not quite machine. She bit her tongue and tasted no blood. _You will never know what you were before._

_It doesn’t matter what you were before. What matters is what you are now._

* * *

Thanos called her before him. When she arrived, she was surprised to see Loki crumpled on the stone a few feet away, wheezing faintly, hunched over. She spared him only a glance before looking to Thanos, back ramrod straight. He appraised her with the same cool disinterest he always showed.

“Nebula,” he said. “My daughter.”

She waited. He would not have summoned her without reason.

“The false Asgardian,” he said finally. “Is…flawed. It seems he is not quite so bent to my will as I had hoped. Have you observed the same…resistance?”

Nebula hesitated but a moment. “Yes,” she said simply.

“You did not report this to me.” His voice was calm, not blaming, but Nebula still felt her spine stiffen. It was not quite a rebuke but almost worse.

“I did not think his resistance significant enough to cause you any difficulty.” That was truthful. Or…it was almost truthful. Nebula had known there were things she could have said, might have passed on. She had chosen not to. She could not entirely say why.

“Hmm.” Thanos considered her, the weight of his gaze heavy, almost overwhelming. She did not flinch or look away, and found herself wondering on what he might meditate behind that dispassionate gaze. _He plays you, you and your sister both, and watches you dance on his strings._

She saw Loki stir, out of the corner of her eye.

“You should not judge such things for yourself,” Thanos said, finally. “In the future, bring any observations to me. I will judge their importance.”

Nebula stiffened. “You do not trust me,” she said, the words bursting out of her before she considered them fully. “If it were Gamora you would not question her decisions or her judgment.”

“I would not,” Thanos agreed, without so much as a moment of hesitation. “But you are not Gamora.” He turned his gaze from her slowly, not even a dismissal so much as boredom. “Go. Take the false Asgardian with you.”

Something withered in Nebula’s chest that she had not even known was there. She crossed the stone to grab Loki by the back of his clothing and hauled him to his feet. He stood on his own, more or less, and stumbled after her away from Thanos’s stony throne.

He collapsed to his knees, retching, when she let him go, out of sight and a safe distance away, producing only thin, sour smelling bile. He crawled away from the small puddle and half fell, curled in a fetal position and breathing hard. He murmured something in a language she didn’t know and couldn’t quite translate, and swallowed hard.

“You should have killed me,” he said, voice rasping. “We might both have been happier.”

Nebula stayed silent, and Loki rasped a laugh and fell quiet. She watched his shoulders rise and fall with his breath.

“You are planning to betray my father,” she said. Loki held very still and said nothing. Nebula looked at her hands, the seams and scars visible there. Thanos had not remade her to be better. He had ripped her apart because he could.

She crouched down and looked him in his pale grey eyes. “Let me help. Let me help you destroy him.”

His gaze turned to her, hazy and pain filled, focusing slowly. Slowly, slowly, a kind of awful hope started to seep in.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Together. We will bring him down.”

* * *

Nebula was not accustomed to having secrets. She was even less accustomed to having a secret shared with someone else. It made her uneasy, though there was an undeniable thrill to it as well. _He will know,_ her thoughts murmured, twisting on themselves. _He will punish you and you will never be able to have his favor again._

A reckless part of her, a bitter part long quiet but now aroused, answered _you never had his favor and you never will. Let him be damned. He loves Death; let her have him._ What tied her to Thanos, after all? What right did he have to her loyalty? He had not made her but unmade her.

Loki’s behavior changed as well. He almost…clung to her, staying close by whenever he was not with Thanos, slinking back to her after their conversations, eyes hollow and dark. She was not sure she liked this, though a part of her did savor the power – and the way he looked at her. It was wary and skittish still, but something else as well, heady and intoxicating. And yet when Thanos left him alone for a few days at a time, a brightness emerged in his eyes and he would talk a little more freely – and talk he did.

“What do you do with your time?” He asked her at some point. She stared blankly at him, not quite understanding. “For leisure,” he went on.

Nebula shook her head. “I train. I practice. I fine-tune the circuitry in my body so that I can fight more effectively.

Now he stared at her. “That is all? There is nothing you – _enjoy?_ ”

“I do enjoy doing these things. They are necessary.”

“No,” Loki objected. “Those are not the same thing. Necessity is not pleasure. It isn’t-” He broke off, breathed out through his nose in the way that she thought meant irritation, and Nebula felt a twinge of her own annoyance.

“Why should it not be,” she demanded. “I do not have need of frivolous things. Why do something if it is not necessary? Completing a task does please me.”

Loki stared at her. “Perhaps it is merely a lack of experience,” he said, sounding more like he was musing than anything. “You cannot have seen much of the universe.”

Nebula’s hackles came up. “More than you, I am sure. Thanos sends Gamora and me to seek out his enemies, or to look for information. I have been to places you can scarcely dream of.”

A strange look flickered over Loki’s face. “I wonder,” he said, but then fell silent, and Nebula was not going to reveal her curiosity by asking.

It also pleased her when Nebula realized that Loki avoided Gamora. She did not know if it was on her behalf (a foolish thing, if it were, and yet one that made her feel oddly warm) but nonetheless it was good. She had never had something for herself. The idea that she might was a strange one.

* * *

“Loki,” Gamora said, lowering her weapon in the signal to pause their sparring. Nebula lowered hers slowly and waited. Gamora looked as though she were struggling for words. “What does he say to you, sister?”

 _Do you think I would tell you my secrets?_ “Little,” she said with a shrug. “He is mad, I think.”

“Sister…” Nebula felt the urge to bristle. Why did Gamora insist on invoking that name, as though it meant anything but hatred? “Do you care for him?”

Nebula’s gaze snapped to Gamora’s eyes, but she could not see what her sister was thinking. “No,” she said at once. It did not quite feel like a lie. _Are you jealous, Gamora? I have something you do not,_ she thought, but she could not have said what the something was. “Why would you ask?”

Gamora shifted. She seemed uneasy. “You said that you thought he would die soon.”

Nebula shrugged. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“Perhaps.” Gamora’s troubled expression deepened. “Our father…” she trailed off. “You are young, Nebula,” she said, finally. “I worry for you.”

Nebula wanted to hiss. She did bare her teeth. “What is it,” she said, “that makes you think I am so weak that I require worry from _you?_ I am not afraid.”

“You never are.” Gamora sounded almost fond, though her voice was a little too flat for that. For a moment, Nebula wavered. She knew, though she had never been able to prove, that Gamora harbored rebellion in her heart. What would she do if Nebula told her everything, told her _listen, I am going to escape from here, I am going to destroy our father._

The moment passed, and Nebula turned away. “Unlike you,” she said harshly. “I am not so soft.”

“Nothing here is soft,” Gamora said, and it sounded again like a warning. “Do you think he cares for you?”

For a moment, Nebula thought she was referring to Thanos, but then she remembered Loki and paused, wondering. She had not thought that he might, not in those words, not precisely. She thought of the way he looked at her, the way he’d gasped under her knife. Was that what _care_ meant?

“No,” she said, but it did not sound wholly certain. Something tapped uneasily at the base of her spine. What would it mean if the answer was _yes?_ (Nothing. What did that word mean, besides? _Care._ An empty word. A meaningless word.)

Gamora did not press her. Nebula found Loki after, on the edge of one of the rock fragments, leaning forward as though he was about to fall off. She circled around to the side and saw that his eyes were closed.

“What are you thinking,” she demanded, Gamora’s question still circling inside her skull.

“It must be a very long way to fall from here,” he said, voice soft and strange. “If someone did…I wonder if they’d ever hit bottom. Or just fall until everything was gone.”

Nebula felt a chill. _Stop,_ she wanted to say. “Everything has an end,” she said bluntly.

Loki turned to her, something fearful in his eyes. “Does it?” He asked. “The universe is vast and very strange. I am not so sure that…I am not so sure.” He glanced out again, toward the black. “When I fell, I saw many things.”

 _I do not care,_ Nebula thought, but the response curdled on her tongue and she stayed silent and unmoving.

“I do not know…I do not know which of them were real, now. By turns it all seems equally illusory and equally true. Sometimes I doubted that I was real. I thought that I was a dream in the mind of something else, and any moment it would wake and I would vanish.” His eyes closed. “Do you understand?”

“No,” Nebula said flatly, though she thought a part of her might. Loki just nodded, quiet for a long moment.

Then he stepped back from the edge. For a moment she thought he would reach out to her, touch her face. She was not sure if she wanted it or not.

“I hope you will come with me when I leave,” he said. “I could take you anywhere you liked.”

Nebula looked past his shoulder. “And if I do not want to go with you?”

“Then do not.” Loki’s voice was stiff, but Nebula thought she could detect a brittle note in it. “I already know you will do what you like.” He brushed by her and walked away. Nebula moved to stand where he had been standing. The dark just looked like dark, to her, but she stayed nonetheless, as though something might change if she just kept looking.

* * *

The second time Loki came to her it was easier. She stabbed a knife through his hand and broke his fingers one by one, watching them mend themselves with fascination after he passed out. He came around, head lolling on his neck and eyes glazed.

“Why do you like it,” she asked. Loki shook his head.

“I do not know. I simply do.” He laughed, harsh and brief. “Perhaps it is part of my…madness.” She thought, for a moment, that he might have almost used a different word. He looked at her in silence, still breathing hard. “Do you feel pain?”

“Not like you do, I don’t think.”

“How strange. Do you feel pleasure?” His unharmed hand brushed her knee, very lightly. She did not pull away, considering the question.

“I do not know,” she said. “If you are referring to sex, I’ve never had much interest in trying. It all seems so…messy.” Loki’s hand rested on her knee, but his fingers were loose, and she did not feel any intent in the touch. Simply contact, she thought, and it was…pleasant. “You did not enjoy it when the Chitauri tortured you,” she said, after a moment. “What is the difference?”

“You don’t want anything,” he said simply. Nebula cocked her head.

“Is that all?”

“No,” Loki added more slowly. “It is also…you are different.”

“You desire me,” Nebula said bluntly. Loki shook his head.

“No – well, yes, but that is not it. I am drawn to you. There is something alike in us – no, do not bristle; you blaze, where I have always been cold.” There crept a hunger into Loki’s eyes that made something in Nebula stir and uncoil. “Your body may be metal and wires, but there is a star at your core.”

Nebula’s body hummed, a thrill going through her that she did not recognize. “You talk a lot,” she said, averting her eyes.

“It is one of my strengths,” Loki said lightly. He pulled his hand away. “But come, my lady. Are you done with me already?”

Nebula did not hold back. She made him scream until his voice gave out, drinking in the expression on his face, pain and hunger and _awe_ mingled together until they couldn’t be pulled apart.

 _Yes,_ she thought, her heart pounding. _Yes._

* * *

Gamora found her sitting on the edge where Loki liked to sit, looking out at space. Her face was pinched and tense, and Nebula stood at once when she saw Gamora approaching.

“Thanos wishes to see you,” Gamora said.

Nebula felt a flash of fear. Thanos had not spoken to her in some time. _He knows,_ she thought, but pushed that aside. If Thanos knew of her treachery he would not be calling her so peacefully to speak with him. She could keep a secret for one conversation.

(She remembered what she had said to Loki: _Nothing is yours. Not anymore._ Thanos knew everything, he always did – no, that was foolishness.)

Nebula smoothed herself out and went to face her father.

He seemed in a good humor when she found him. She bowed low before his throne and he stood, gesturing her up. “There is no need for such formality,” he said. “You are my daughter, Nebula, are you not?”

“Yes,” she said simply. It was the right answer.

“The false Asgardian,” he said, descending to stand on her level – though he was so much taller than her that it did not matter. “Loki, your charge.” Nebula tried not to stiffen.

“Has his defiance continued?” she asked neutrally.

“On the contrary,” her father said, smiling – Nebula could not think of many times that he had smiled, and never for her. Her heart leapt. “He has been most cooperative. You did well with him. I was impatient to think that a momentary lapse on his part would reflect on you.”

Nebula’s thoughts stuttered, fixing on that one string of words. _You did well._ For a moment, she did not breathe. For a moment, she felt _real._ She said nothing. Thanos did not reach out, but looking up at him she could see a pride in his eyes that swept away all her bitterness and anger.

“You may know, now, what it is I needed him for,” he said. “The false Asgardian knows a little planet called Earth, which houses a powerful artifact that is mine by right. His magic can bring him there, and he will lead my army to fetch it back for me from the little creatures that hold it.” Thanos’s eyes glinted metallically with a hunger that reminded Nebula of what she’d seen in Loki’s. Thinking of Loki, she wavered.

“An honorable position,” she said, her mouth moving while her thoughts spun.

“Not truly,” Thanos said, sounding as though he were trying to reassure her. “He is but the vanguard. Once my property is returned…you will lead armies ten times greater, Nebula. Rather than one planet, you will be at my side to help me claim the universe itself.”

Her heart was beating hard in her chest, her promise rising up to choke her. “Father,” she said, her voice strangely thick.

“You have pleased me greatly with your work,” her father said, her _maker_ said. “You will be rewarded, Nebula, for your loyalty.”

 _Rewarded. For your loyalty. Pleased me greatly. You did well._ Nebula felt for a moment as though she could not breathe. What had she been _thinking? He made you. He is your father._

_Whatever you were before, it does not matter. You are his daughter now._

“It seeks to betray you,” she said, the words spilling out of her before she meant to say them. “He means – it means to turn on you the moment it has the chance. It sought to suborn me into its schemes, but I refused – father, I _refused._ ” She spoke loudly, too loudly, and it did not sound truthful to her. Thanos’s gaze was heavy on her, and for a moment, two, she felt certain he would strike her down.

“I see,” he said, simply. “Thank you for informing me.” There was little tone in his voice, and no expression on his face. He turned, reascending the steps to his throne.

“Father,” Nebula blurted out, “I did not-”

“Be silent,” he said, and she flinched, the echo of his words _you did well_ still in her ears. “You are dismissed.”

He did not look at her. Nebula wavered, wanting to plead, to say more, to offer excuses – but she knew none of them would matter. She had betrayed her maker, she had (slunk back into her captivity, retied the strings around her limbs) failed in her duties. It was the creature’s fault, she thought angrily. It had led her into this folly. She left, creeping away from Thanos.

 _It was the right thing to do,_ she told herself, but the thought felt hollow. She wondered if Thanos would kill Loki _(the creature)_ for this.

No, she thought, and dread was cold in her stomach. No, he wouldn’t. It would only be a waste.

* * *

She was called again, some time later. Nebula had avoided Gamora and Loki both, unable to face either of them. She had not tried to approach Thanos. Coming before him now, she half expected him to force her to grovel, but instead he summoned her to stand at his left, Gamora on his other side. Nebula took her place, uncertain.

“Send for him,” Thanos said to one of the hovering Chitauri, and it scuttled away. They waited in silence, time dragging by.

Finally, Nebula made out Loki’s approaching form, striding toward them. She held very still, fixing her gaze forward but at nothing in particular. He – _it,_ her mind insisted, _it –_ bowed gracefully and straightened.

“What do you wish of me, my lord,” he said, smooth and even. Thanos leaned forward.

“Wish of you,” he said, and Nebula knew the dangerous tone of voice. By the paling of Loki’s skin, he knew it as well. “It is not what I _wish,_ Loki who claims to be of Asgard. It is what I _will have._ ”

He faltered, but recovered swiftly. “Of course. I misspoke.”

“And when you plotted against me?” Thanos said quietly. “Did you _misspeak_ then?” Nebula heard his breath catch. “Did you think I would not know? I know _all_ that passes in my domain, little prince. _All._ I hear the words you speak in your dreams. I have seen the secrets you thought to hide from me. I know your petty little desires and your deep terrors.” His voice deepened awfully. “And I knew from the moment you conceived the idea that you meant to betray me.”

“My lord,” Loki said, almost tripping over the words. The Chitauri were gliding closer, and by the glance over his shoulder he knew they were there. “The thought had crossed my mind, yes – but I knew I could not act on such a thing. It is my nature, to consider all angles, but I realized swiftly that I could never hope to overpower so mighty a being as yourself-”

“Silence,” Thanos said, and Loki’s mouth snapped shut. By the way his nostrils flared and his eyes widened, it was not under his own will.

Loki’s eyes flickered back and forth, an animal seeking an escape. Nebula’s gaze had drifted back to him, though he seemed to be trying very hard not to look at her. Why, she wondered briefly, and then realized – Thanos had not mentioned her. Perhaps he still believed that she was his accomplice.

A pit yawned in her stomach, unexpectedly large.

 _I will not look away,_ she swore to herself.

“There is a vast breadth of punishments I could visit on you,” Thanos went on. “And your kind is resilient. I will let you live, Loki Laufeyson. For now. Let the pain you are about to experience be a reminder of what comes to those who think they can overmaster me.” He sat back, and the Chitauri spokesman moved forward. Two others grabbed his arms and shoulders and forced him to his knees.

The spokesman grasped Loki’s temples roughly. His body snapped taut. Nothing changed visibly at first, but soon he began to whimper and then to scream. His body spasmed but did not break free, his eyes open wide and unseeing. Nebula’s skin crawled. She held very still.

It seemed to go on forever, but eventually the Chitauri released Loki’s head. He dropped forward, scream breaking off into gasps. _It’s over,_ Nebula thought for a moment, and apparently so did Loki because his head started to lift.

It was only a respite. The Chitauri leader, if that was what he was, seized Loki’s head once more. This time he moaned. “No,” he said, “no no no no-” and then it was screaming again, rising and falling. Nebula had heard many scream. She had never enjoyed it, but now…

She thought if her body were capable of it she might have been sick.

It went like that, in rounds. By the third, Loki had dislocated his own arm by struggling. By the fifth, blood trickled from his nose and ears, and his face was stained with tears. “Thor,” he said, voice ragged and nearly lost. “Thor, help me!”

Thanos said nothing, watching in stony silence. Gamora said nothing, her face and eyes like glass. Nebula watched, holding very still.

This time, when the Chitauri stopped, Loki’s lolling head turned toward her. His eyes met hers and he licked his lips. “Nebula,” he said, voice cracked and almost broken. “ _Please._ ”

Like stone, she thought. Like stone.

Thanos stood, then. “Do not look to my daughter for help, little prince,” he said. “She is loyal to me. She came to me to tell me of your deceit.” Nebula felt something in her sink, suddenly heavy. “Nebula serves me well and faithfully.” The praise made Nebula’s body clench, something in her rebelling even as she wanted to revel in it, look at Gamora and say _see, see?_

She did not. She looked at Loki, and so she saw the way he looked at her. Desperation melting into horror melting into despair. Despair and hatred and pain. It was an expression Nebula was used to. Everyone she’d ever killed had looked that way at the end.

“You burn,” Loki said, his voice ragged. “I should’ve known,” and laughed, high and awful. He spat on the stone in her direction. Nebula was numb.

The Chitauri grabbed him again. This time, the scream broke off into choking sounds and he vomited thick, black blood down his front, choked more, vomited again.

There was a poison, Nebula thought, that she knew, which liquefied the victim’s insides within them. Cut open after they were dead, their organs were nothing but a fleshy soup. The thick stuff Loki was spitting out looked like that, like the Chitauri was dismantling him from the inside.

“Father,” Gamora said, sounding uncertain. Nebula was proud that she had not spoken first.

“He will survive,” Thanos said coldly. “As I said, his kind is resilient.”

It seemed to last for a long time. When Thanos finally said “enough” Loki had long since stopped making any sounds at all. The Chitauri stepped back, the two who had been restraining him letting go their holds. His body slumped loosely face-down into the puddle of blood and dissolved organs, only to roll painfully to its side. Nebula could see him shaking but there was not even the sound of sobs.

Thanos strode over and bent down beside Loki’s huddled figure. Nebula could not hear what he said, but when he straightened he seemed pleased.

“Go, my daughters,” he said. “That unpleasantness is finished with. Nebula, Laufeyson is no longer your charge. I will remember your loyalty.”

Nebula trailed after Gamora, not looking back.

“He cried out to you,” her sister said, when they were out of Thanos’s earshot. Nebula wanted to hunch her shoulders.

“I do not know why,” she lied. “I told you. He is mad. I am loyal to our father.”

“Yes,” Gamora said, oddly quiet. “You are.”

* * *

Nebula did not go in search of Loki. She saw him from a distance, once, holding a golden, bladed scepter with a shimmering blue jewel, but she did not approach. He glanced at her and pointedly looked away. Nebula told herself it meant nothing, and it was so – nothing meant anything.

The next she asked of him, Thanos informed her that he had been sent to Earth. She did not ask further. The Chitauri vanished as well; no doubt following Loki to serve as his army. It was her, Gamora, and Thanos once again, as it was supposed to be.

She did not let herself doubt. Did not let herself ask, _what if._

With Loki’s absence, Thanos seemed to forget her once more, turning back to Gamora, and she was left only with the echo of praise, the memory of feeling beloved, and the feeling that she had been tricked – though she could not have said who by.

 _There is a star at your core,_ Loki had said. She had almost believed it.

Space closed in around her. She was Thanos’s daughter (creature, pet). She could feel the cage but there was nothing else, there was nowhere else. _You will never know what you were before._ Nebula stood at the edge of a rock and looked down into nothingness.

Maybe, Nebula thought, she had just been made to be alone. She wondered, if she fell, if she would die or just keep falling.

_Nebula. A collection of matter that will someday form a star._

She turned away from the edge and walked back into her ruined world.


End file.
